


Gimme

by OfEndlessWonder



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, apparently everything i write for these two is going to be really inappropriate??, villanelle is such a little shit and i love her so much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 09:33:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18825961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OfEndlessWonder/pseuds/OfEndlessWonder
Summary: ‘Oh, Villanelle could have some fun here tonight, with Eve listening to her every move. The thought sends a shiver of excitement down Villanelle’s back.’ AKA Villanelle totally sleeps with Amber whilst Eve’s listening because of course she would.





	Gimme

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t even know where this came from but I really can’t seem to get these two idiots off my mind. 
> 
> Let me know what you think! And hit me up on tumblr if you wanna yell about killing eve with me (ofendlesswonder over there, too). 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!!

_ Oh you’re mine to take _ _   
_ _ I wanna hear the sounds that you’ll make _

* * *

 

Villanelle’s quiet at her next AA meeting. 

She’s already made her mark, already made them think that she’s one of them, and with Amber shooting her curious glances every few minutes, Villanelle knows that she has her ensnared. 

Sure enough, as Villanelle is reclining on the steps outside, Amber approaches, settling down beside Villanelle and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I didn’t know if you’d come back,” Amber says, voice soft, and she’s playing nervously with her hands. “I thought my brother might have scared you off.”

“It’d take a lot to scare me off,” Villanelle replies, honestly, and Amber’s smile is relieved. “Does he do that a lot? Scare off your friends?” 

“Sometimes.” Villanelle wonders what it’s like, to have your life be so controlled, wonders whether Amber will ever snap. Villanelle had in just a few minutes with Aaron Peel – she can’t imagine what a whole lifetime would be like. “Do you, um, want to come over again tonight?” 

“Really?” Villanelle is surprised – she’d been sent back here to see if she could repair the damage she’d done last night, but neither she nor Eve had expected to get any results. “Has your brother not banned me from the house?” 

“Honestly, I think what you did last night kind of impressed him, in some weird way.” Amber shakes her head, like she doesn’t understand him. “No-one’s ever stood up to him like that before.” Amber’s gaze turns admiring, and Villanelle thinks she wishes she’d been the one to strike Aaron across the face. “He said you’re welcome to come back, as long as you don’t go snooping this time.” 

“I’ll try my best.” Amber’s smile is wide, and it isn’t long before she’s ushered away by her new bodyguard into a waiting car, with the promise of seeing Villanelle again later that night. 

Eve waits at the café down the street, and Villanelle takes her time walking there, because things with Eve have been so…  _ strained _ , lately. She’s cold and standoffish, and Villanelle knows it’s because she gets under her skin, but that doesn’t mean that it isn’t so  _ frustrating _ . 

If Eve would just admit what she wants (and Villanelle knows that it’s her, because she’s not stupid, and she’s not blind, and when she’d had Eve against her kitchen counter the other night, she’d felt her pulse racing and she didn’t think it was from fear, despite the knife pressed into her side), then things would be so much  _ easier _ .

But she won’t, because she’s stubborn, and Villanelle supposes that that’s one of the things that draws her to Eve – she’s used to getting what she wants, whenever she wants it, but Eve is different, and that only makes Villanelle crave her even more. 

“Well, that went better than expected,” Eve says when Villanelle drops into the seat opposite her, all business, as usual. “Will you  _ please  _ read the file this time?”

“Why?” Villanelle steals a sip of Eve’s coffee, just to piss her off, knows she’s succeeded when Eve bats her hands away once she’s set the mug down. “Not reading it last time worked out pretty well, didn’t it?”

“Are you kidding?” Eve looks at her like she’s stupid. “You compromised  _ everything _ .” Villanelle rolls her eyes and leans back in her seat, lets her eyes wander around the café as Eve begins to berate her. There’s no-one else in there aside from the barista, and Villanelle notices him looking her way with some level of interest, winks because she knows Eve will notice, and isn’t disappointed by her reaction. “Are you even listening to me right now?”

Villanelle blinks, turns her head back towards Eve, who is glaring at her across the tiny table, eyes dark and stormy. “You were telling me everything I did wrong, were you not?” Eve looks like she wants to slap her, and it’s pissing her off. “Look, I did what you wanted, didn’t I? I got you an in with Peel. And if you don’t like the way I do things… well, I’m sure you have plenty of other agents at your disposal.” Villanelle leans forward, rests her elbow on the table and her chin in her palm. “Speaking of… you could have chosen any one of them for this job, but you didn’t. You came to me, even though you know full well that my skillset is better suited to other things. Why did you pick me, Eve?” Eve doesn’t answer, but her jaw is clenched tight, and Villanelle knows that Eve doesn’t like to be challenged, especially when it comes to her. “Did you just need an excuse to see me again? Because you could have just called, you know.”

“Of course that’s not why,” Eve says, through gritted teeth, and there’s so much rage radiating off her that it’s a wonder it’s not visible in the air. Villanelle likes it, this darkness that’s hiding within her – it had been buried deep, that first time they met, but it had rose to the forefront in Paris, when she’d stuck a knife in Villanelle’s belly, and now every time they meet, she can see Eve struggling to contain it.

Villanelle wonders how beautiful and deadly Eve would be, if only she let herself lose control. 

“It’s not?” Villanelle asks, and Eve shakes her head. “Why is it, then?” 

“You’re not privy to those decisions.” It sounds like an excuse to not give an honest answer, and Villanelle chuckles.

“Spoken like a true agent,” she murmurs, before she rises to her feet. “Well, much as I’d like to stay and chat, I have some errands to run.” She doesn’t – she’s planning on spending her day lazing around her apartment and trying not to die of boredom, but she knows that if she tells Eve she has plans, it’ll drive the other woman crazy trying to figure out just what, exactly, she’s up to.

“Errands?” Sure enough, there’s a crease between Eve’s eyebrows. “What could you possibly have to do?”

“Oh, you know,” Villanelle lifts her shoulders in an exaggerated shrug. “Things.”

“Like?”

“You’re not privy to those decisions,” Villanelle echoes back at her, and Eve’s lips curl in distaste. “I’m sure I’ll hear you later.” She taps her ear (she’d been given a new earpiece with strict instructions  _ not  _ to eat this one) before turning on her heel and making for the door.

“Read the file!” Eve calls after her, and Villanelle flips her off, because they both know she has absolutely no intention of doing that. 

//

She makes her way to the Peel’s residence in a cab, because getting dropped off outside in a black surveillance van would definitely arouse suspicion.

Eve and Konstantin are back in said van, parked a little ways down the street, but Eve is the only one in her ear (thankfully – she knows Konstantin will go through at least two bags of popcorn, and she doesn’t want all she hears all night to be him munching away), although she knows they’ll both hear everything through the tiny microphone that’s stitched into her shirt.

Amber answers the door when she knocks, greets her with a bright smile and gestures her inside. “So, my brother actually got called into work a little while ago,” Amber says as she leads Villanelle towards the kitchen, “so it’s just the two of us tonight, if that’s okay?” She looks almost shy as she says it, and Villanelle already had her suspicions about Amber being attracted to her but the nervous way she’s acting now, unable to hold Villanelle’s gaze for too long, fingers drumming across the kitchen counter, only confirms it.

Oh, Villanelle could have some fun here tonight, with Eve listening to her every move.

The thought sends a shiver of excitement down Villanelle’s back.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” She replies to Amber, and she offers Amber her best smile, stands just a little too close to her, so that their arms are brushing.

“Can I get you a drink?”

“Water is fine.” Amber goes to fetch her a glass, and Villanelle is not at all surprised when, as soon as her back is turned, she hears Eve’s voice.

_ “What the hell are you doing?”  _ She asks, voice rough and annoyed.  _ “If Aaron isn’t there, there’s no point in you being there, because I doubt she’s doing to leave you alone for long enough for you to snoop through his things. Make an excuse and get out of there.” _

Villanelle is tempted to shut the earpiece off, or perhaps drop it into the glass of water Amber hands her, but she thinks this will be more fun if Eve keeps talking, if she lets Villanelle get to her, and allows Villanelle to hear it in her voice.

“So,” Villanelle lets her fingers brush against Amber’s when she accepts the glass, leans her hip against the counter, “is your brother  _ really  _ working, or did you not tell him about tonight so that you could get me alone?”

“He is actually working, but…” Amber’s cheeks tinge pink and she ducks her head, and Villanelle thinks that she’s pretty, knows she should probably feel bad, for using Amber the way she’s planning to tonight. “But I’m really glad that he’s not here right now.”

“Oh yeah?” Villanelle takes a step closer to the other woman, so that there’s barely any space between them, so that she can feel the heat of Amber’s body against her own. “And why’s that?” Her voice is low, and she’s never had a problem seducing people before and as Amber looks up at her through her lashes, her eyes dark, she knows that this won’t be the exception.

The only exception so far has been Eve, and it’s Eve that Villanelle thinks of when Amber leans up to press a kiss against her lips. It’s chaste, but Villanelle chases her mouth when she pulls away, presses Amber against the counter and wishes this is what had happened when she’d been in Eve’s kitchen the other night.

She remembers the weight of the blade in her hand and how Eve’s hips had felt, flush against hers, how she’d trembled beneath the hand that Villanelle had settled on her waist, and she kisses Amber harder, feels her moan as Villanelle slips her tongue between her lips.

_ “What. Are. You. Doing.”  _ Eve growls the words into her ear, and Villanelle thinks of her, sitting in that van and listening to the sound of her and Amber kissing, wonders if Eve is also wishing that it were her, instead.

Villanelle’s response is to lift Amber onto the counter, steps between her legs and lets her mouth trail down the other woman’s neck. Amber is loud, which she loves, because she wants Eve to hear  _ exactly  _ how good at this she is, how well she knows a woman’s body, how she can make them scream her name.

(A fake one, usually, and tonight will be no exception, but still).

Usually, when she has sex, it’s quick and dirty, nothing more than a means to an end. But sometimes she likes to lose herself in the moment, likes to fill the emptiness in her heart with soft sighs and moans. She loves the body of a woman, the soft skin and the gentle curves, loves to run her lips and her hands all over, like it’s a form of a worship.

She wants to worship Eve, wants to trace every inch of her skin with lips and teeth and tongue until she’s begging, until she can’t take it anymore. She wants to show her what she’s missing, what they could have had, that day in her Parisian apartment, if Eve had kissed her instead of tried to kill her.

But Eve isn’t here (at least, not directly – she sure as hell is indirectly, because Villanelle can hear her heavy breathing in her ear, and god, that only spurs her on even more, because it makes the fantasy just that little bit more real, just a little more within reach), so she turns her attention on Amber instead.

_ “This is not what you’re supposed to be doing _ ,” Eve hisses into her ear as Villanelle is letting Amber lead her into her bedroom.  _ “You’re supposed to be getting close to Aaron, not getting into his sister’s pants.”  _ She sounds furious, and Villanelle wishes she could see her – is this turning her on, listening to Amber say her name? Are her eyes dark and her cheeks flushed, is she shifting in her seat, trying to ignore the ache between her thighs?

God, Villanelle’s wet and it has absolutely nothing to do with the woman she’s straddling and everything to do with the images of Eve she has in her head. Amber tries to touch her, hands sliding beneath Villanelle’s shirt, but Villanelle grips her wrist gently and pins it down, soothes Amber’s protest with the heat of her mouth.

She wants to come but she doesn’t want Amber to touch her, settles for rocking against her thigh, instead, and her moans are loud because they’re for Eve and she has to bite back the sound of Eve’s name as she comes, smothers it against the side of Amber’s neck.

Eve’s breaths are coming faster in her ear, and Villanelle wonders if Eve wishes she could see her right now, face slack with bliss.

Ache satiated (for now), Villanelle turns her attention to Amber, closes her eyes and pretends she’s Eve, fucks her until Amber begs her to stop, and when Villanelle pulls away she collapses back on the back, spent and boneless.

“Wow,” she huffs a laugh, cracks one eye open to look at Villanelle, stretched out beside her. “You are  _ really  _ good at that.” Villanelle grins, hopes that Eve is still listening. “Give me like, five minutes to recover, and I’ll return the favour.”

“It’s okay,” Villanelle tells her, trying not to recoil from the hand that Amber settles on her waist – now that the moment’s over, she finds that she just wants to get out of there. “I’m good.”

“Really?” Amber looks surprised, and Villanelle nods.

“Really,” she assures her. “Do you mind if I go and get a glass of water?”

“Go ahead.” The only items of clothing Villanelle had shed had been her shoes and her coat, so she doesn’t worry about the cameras as she heads towards the kitchen. She fills a glass before she wanders through the house, familiarising herself with the layout before she tries the door of Aaron’s study – it’s locked, and Villanelle wonders if it always is when he’s not here, or if it was a precaution he’d taken because he knew she was going to be there tonight.

She can pick a lock, but she doesn’t want to be gone too long or make Amber suspicious (and besides, she’s pretty sure she’s going to be offered another invitation back here, after tonight), so she makes her way back towards Amber’s bedroom.

Before she gets there, she slips her phone out of her pocket and presses it to her ear, has a pretend conversation that Amber should be able to hear snippets of, and will offer her an out.

“I’m really sorry,” Villanelle says as she steps back into Amber’s bedroom, and she hopes her face is suitably apologetic, “but that was my friend. Her husband just left her the other day,” she wonders if Eve is still listening, “and she’s not handling it too well, so I should really go and check on her.”

“Oh,” Amber looks disappointed, but seems to take it in her stride. “Okay. Let me call you a cab?” Villanelle lets her, watches Amber dress hastily so that she can walk her to the door, lets Amber kiss her goodnight. “We should do this again sometime,” Amber says, and Villanelle forces a smile.

“I’d like that. Call me?”

“Of course.”

Villanelle jumps into her waiting cab and smirks when she passes the surveillance van on the road outside – Eve might be silent now, but she’s still here, which means she probably listened to that whole exchange, exactly like Villanelle wanted.

She wonders if Eve had enjoyed the show, whether she’d enjoyed it  _ too  _ much, and she knows that that will infuriate Eve, but what she  _ doesn’t  _ know is whether that fury will lead to her refusing to work with Villanelle again, or kissing her senseless.

Villanelle is excited to find out which option Eve will choose.

//

Quite frankly, it’s a miracle Eve doesn’t crash the van on the drive back to HQ.

Her hands grip the wheel so tight that her knuckles are white, and she can barely focus on the road in-front of her, is glad that the late hour means that it’s quiet, because otherwise she’s not so sure that she’d make it back in one piece.

All she can hear, ringing in her ears, is the breathy sound of Villanelle’s moans, and the way she’d choked on what sounded like Eve’s name.

All she can hear is Amber fucking Peel reacting to the way that Villanelle had touched her, and Eve burns with the memory of it, burns with the shame of wishing that it had been her, instead.

She thinks that this was all just some sort of sick game for Villanelle, to try and show Eve what she could have, if she only let herself, and  _ damn  _ her for this, for taking advantage of this mission, of Eve’s trust in her.

( _ Damn  _ her for having exactly the effect she wanted).

“I told you,” Konstantin, who had been relatively quiet aside from a muttered ‘oh, boy’ when it had become clear what Villanelle was about to do, says as Eve pulls up into a space in the car park beneath the MI6 building, “this is what she does.”

“I don’t really want an ‘I told you so’ right now, thank you.” Eve’s voice is acerbic, but it’s not him she’s mad at – he  _ had  _ tried to warn her, after all.

She’s mad at Villanelle, for orchestrating all of this, mad because she knows that the night wouldn’t have gone like this if Jess or Hugo had been sitting in the van in Eve’s place. She’s mad at  _ herself _ , most of all, because she shouldn’t want Villanelle, there are a thousand reasons why the two of them together would be a catastrophe, and yet…

And yet, she  _ does  _ want her, and there’s an uncomfortable ache between her thighs that tells her just how much.

“She’s trying to get under your skin,” Konstantin continues, and Eve hates the way he’s looking at her, like he knows exactly what she’s feeling. “If I were you, I wouldn’t let her know that it’s working.”

Eve wonders, as she steps out of the van, what his angle is. He’d tried to warn her away last time because he wanted to run away with Villanelle, but now he has no such motivations, and she wonders if it’s Carolyn’s voice in his ear, encouraging him to steer Eve well clear of the blonde assassin that haunts her mind.

She slams the van door shut and doesn’t say goodbye, leaves Konstantin standing there, and he can be the one to brief Carolyn on how the night went if they’re so damn close.

She should take the tube home, but she doesn’t, steps out into the night air and likes the way it cools down her heated cheeks. She decides to walk home, because she’s not in any rush – it’s not like she has anything to home to, after all, and she thinks of Niko with a pang of guilt but also anger, that he’d been brave enough to leave her – but she’s barely been walking for five minutes before she realises that she’s going the wrong way.

She realises because she finds herself outside of a building that’s home to an MI6 safehouse, and she knows that this particular one is occupied by the woman that she just can’t seem to get off her mind.

There’s a light on upstairs, so Villanelle is home, and Eve stares up at it until her eyes start to sting. She knows that she should turn around and go home, that she should absolutely not be here, that she’s too tightly wound from everything that’s happened tonight, knows that if she goes inside, she’s going to do something stupid that she won’t be able to take back.

It doesn’t stop her from reaching for the key that sits heavy in her pocket, the one that Carolyn had presented her with (and Eve is still not entirely sure  _ why _ ). It doesn’t stop her because her rationality flies out of the window when it comes to Villanelle, as does her sanity, and really, her ending up here was bound to happen sooner rather than later.

She thinks that she and Villanelle are inevitable, drawn together like a moth to a flame, drawn together with a catastrophic energy that might be the death of her, but oh, what a sweet death it would be.

She’s quiet, as she slips the key into the lock and pads up the stairs, but Villanelle is nowhere in sight. The clothes that she’d been wearing earlier are discarded haphazardly on the floor, and Eve hears the sound of running water and wonders if Villanelle is trying to wash any lingering traces of Amber from her skin.

Eve knows that, if she wanted to, she could slip away, and Villanelle would never know that she was here. Briefly, she toys with the idea of leaving something here, some evidence that she’d been by but walked away, but then she hears the water shut off and knows she’s lost her opportunity (fools herself by even considering that she’d ever had the strength to leave), settles herself on the edge of Villanelle’s bed in the vain hope that Eve will manage to catch her off guard.

“Eve.” Villanelle, of course, doesn’t look even remotely surprised to see her in the middle of her apartment as she steps out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam, and she’s wearing a robe, cinched loosely around her waist, and from the miles and miles of bare skin it reveals, doesn’t appear to be wearing a thing beneath it. “What are you doing here?”

Villanelle looks beautiful, framed in the bathroom light, and Eve doesn’t know how someone so deadly could look so angelic. Her hair is in a bun on-top of her head, and it’s dry but there are a few stands that have fallen loose at the base of her neck, curling as they go damp, and Eve hates how her fingers twitch with the longing to pull her hair loose, to tangle her hands in it and tug until Villanelle was moaning like she had been before.

She wonders when she’d become this, when she’d started to want this, want her, with such a ferocity. She doesn’t think she can pinpoint it, the exact moment when her obsession had turned into longing, but there’s no way she can deny that that’s what it is now, because all she wants is to reach for Villanelle and never let her go.

Which is  _ fucked up _ , because she’s a killer, she’s standing opposite a murderer and thinking about how much she wants to fuck her, and when had this become her life?

“I wanted to talk to you about tonight.” Her voice is steadier than Eve expects it to be, even when Villanelle leans her shoulder against the doorframe of the bathroom, a hand settled on her cocked hip.

“Oh? What about it?”

_ You know what about it,  _ Eve wants to snarl, but she knows that that’s what Villanelle wants, and she doesn’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing how much she’d gotten to Eve.

“You shouldn’t have slept with her.”

“Why?” Villanelle is on the move, now, stalks towards Eve with a grace that Eve herself will never possess, and when she’s in-front of Eve, when Eve is looking up at her, she’s made breathless by the look in Villanelle’s eyes, the barely contained excitement, and Eve is relieved when Villanelle doesn’t reach out and touch her, because she think it might make her shatter. “I have an in with the Peel family. I can probably get invited back there whenever I want. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” 

“Not like this,” Eve whispers, and she hates how choked her voice sounds, but her throat feels tight, with Villanelle so close, towering over her.

“Why not?” Villanelle asks, voice sweet like honey. “Are you jealous?” There’s a smirk on her mouth that Eve wants to wipe away with her fist, and she’s so  _ smug  _ about this, about how completely she’s managed to wrap Eve around her finger.

“No,” she says, but she knows it sounds like a lie.

“I think you were,” Villanelle looks far too pleased with herself, and how can someone so  _ infuriating  _ make her feel so much desire? “If it makes you feel any better,” Villanelle’s voice drops, lowers in a way that makes Eve’s stomach twist, and when she cups the side of Eve’s face with one hand, thumb stroking across Eve’s cheek gently, they both let out a shuddering breath, “I was thinking about you the whole time.”

Fuck, that shouldn’t make her hot, shouldn’t make her heart pound and her clit throb but oh,  _ it does _ , and there must be something seriously wrong with her but she doesn’t even know if she cares anymore.

“I wished it was you, instead,” Villanelle continues, and then her fingers are sliding into Eve’s hair, and Eve feels them trembling against her scalp. “Did you wish the same?”

Eve knows that they’re teetering on the edge of a precipice, that whatever she says next will hurtle them off the side of the cliff either way.

She could lie and say no, make her excuses and leave, retire home to an empty bed, unable to sleep, too haunted by echo of Villanelle’s moans, until she eventually gave in and touched herself while thinking of her.

It’s not the most attractive option, but it’s certainly the safest, the one that would leave her, for the most part, unscathed.

What she says, though, is a quiet “yes”, and she hears Villanelle’s breath catch, and then she’s leaning down and she’s kissing her, and Eve feels like the ground has fallen from beneath her feet, feels like her world has shifted on its axis, and kissing Villanelle should feel all kinds of wrong but god, it just feels so  _ right _ .

Villanelle kisses her hard and deep, like she has something to prove, her hands tight in Eve’s hair, and it makes Eve breathless, her own hands reaching out for Villanelle to pull her closer. She finds purchase on Villanelle’s thighs, the skin soft but the muscle strong beneath her touch, and she tugs until Villanelle is in her lap, the weight of her warm and heavy and so fucking perfect.

Eve knows, as her hands reach for the tie of Villanelle’s robe, that they shouldn’t be doing this, that she’s about to bulldoze right through the point of no return, but really, when it came to Villanelle, she’d never have a chance.

They were always going to end up here, fighting for control, and Eve feels like she’s got the upper hand as she pushes the robe off of Villanelle’s shoulders.

But then she opens her eyes, and her brain nearly short-circuits because she was right and Villanelle wasn’t wearing a thing under that robe, and Eve is  _ not  _ prepared for the sight of a completely naked Villanelle straddling her hips.

She’s beautiful, and Eve swallows hard as she takes her in, the pale skin that’s covered in scars, and Eve wants to trace over them all with her hands and then her mouth and ask Villanelle for the story of each and every one.

But there’s one she  _ does  _ know the backstory of, the one that’s still a shiny pink, barely healed, and when Eves fingers brush against the mark she’d left Villanelle lets out a strangled breath. The scar is smooth but raised, and Eve digs her nails into it until Villanelle groans, ducks down to kiss her with a ferocity that leaves her breathless.

She slides her hands over Villanelle’s back, drags her nails over her skin hard enough to leave a mark, and Villanelle nips sharply at her lip in response. It makes her moan, and Eve has never been into rough sex before but she sees the appeal, doesn’t want to stop until Villanelle is covered in a litany of bruises, each and every mark a reminder of the way that Eve had made her feel.

“Fuck, Eve,” Villanelle curses as Eve mouths at her neck, teeth working at her skin, hands cupping her breasts and her hips grinding against nothing, and she’s never felt as exhilarated as she does in that moment, with Villanelle desperate against her, at having someone so powerful start to fall to pieces because of Eve’s touch.

“What do you want?” Eve breathes against her skin, and god, she doesn’t ever want to stop doing this, sighs as Villanelle arches into her.

“Touch me,” Villanelle murmurs, and Eve is only too happy to comply, because she wants nothing more than to feel Villanelle come undone against her.

Eve slips a hands between Villanelle’s thighs and swears when she feels how wet she is, her fingers sliding easily across slick flesh, and Eve has never done this before but Villanelle doesn’t seem to be complaining as Eve slides two fingers inside of her.

Villanelle rocks against her fingers, pressing her deeper, and Eve doesn’t know if she’ll ever get over how perfect Villanelle feels, grinding against her hand until she’s practically fucking herself on Eve’s fingers, and she’s definitely the hottest thing that Eve has ever seen.

She draws Villanelle into another kiss, swallows the sound of her breathless moans, and if this it what giving into her desires gets her then, fuck, Eve can only wish that she’d done it sooner.

She knows that eventually, this will end in disaster, that it will never last, that they’re going to end up destroying one another, but that doesn’t seem to matter when Villanelle is clenching around her fingers and breathing Eve’s name as she comes.

It might matter in the morning, when the cold, harsh light of day shatters whatever illusions Eve has about what has happened here tonight, when she can barely look at herself in the mirror in the face of what she’s done, but as Villanelle pushes her onto her back and tugs Eve’s shirt over her head, all Eve can do is surrender to her touch.


End file.
